


You Know Where (You've Been There)

by tillthestarsevaporate



Category: Crier's War Series - Nina Varela, Crier's War Trilogy - Nina Varela
Genre: Comfort, Epistolary, F/F, Love Letters, POV Crier, Post-Canon, Post-Iron Heart, but i have no idea how to edit the fandom tag, this is me dealing with the end of this perfect duology, yes i know it's a duology not a trilogy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:02:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26673340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tillthestarsevaporate/pseuds/tillthestarsevaporate
Summary: "Because it’s you.It’s you, the wash of starlight, the old paradox: if the Universe were static, I could stand anywhere in this world and I swear my line of sight would end on you. I swear I’d find you in the dark."Ayla finds Crier's stack of unsent letters, addressed to her.This is a short collection of these letters to Ayla during the time betweenCrier's WarandIron Heart.
Relationships: Crier/Ayla (Crier's War)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 51





	You Know Where (You've Been There)

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this after finishing the masterpiece that is Iron Heart. Days later, I'm still unable to return to my real life.  
> I hope you love reading this as much as I loved writing it!

> _"We met where the cliff greets the sea_
> 
> _Shared a story, took the leap_
> 
> _Rose up rooted, hid a note_
> 
> _You know where_
> 
> _You've been there."_
> 
> -Nightwish, How's the Heart?

When Crier walked into her room that evening, the last thing she expected to see was Ayla. Sitting at her desk. Holding in her hands—

_—no—_

“Crier,” Ayla breathed, the hesitation in her voice proof of Crier’s suspicions.

“What are you doing?”

Ayla was taken aback for a second, momentarily withdrawing into her shell. “I was looking for the music room key. I—I found—”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound...” Crier moved towards the desk, her steps slow. Regret ate at her for the way her words pushed Ayla away. More than that, she was confused. Shouldn’t she be running and snatching those letters from Ayla to prevent further embarrassment? “How much did you read?”

“I—” Ayla extended her hand, the letters there for Crier’s taking. Crier could just take them back right now and everything would return to normal.

“Keep them,” whispered Crier, surprising herself.

Ayla’s eyes widened.

Crier took her hand, the letters clasped in the other, and led her to the bed. They sat on the edge.

“Did you read them?”

Ayla shook her head. Crier raised one eyebrow at her. “Just the one.”

“And?”

“It’s perfect.” Ayla looked down at the topmost letter as she whispered the words, her eyes glinting with—were those tears?

> _A,_
> 
> _You once told me that the nature of the Universe is that everything inside it becomes lonelier and lonelier and lonelier. Some nights I can think of nothing else, and nothing more terrifying. Some nights I lie awake, thinking of this, and it makes me unspeakably sad._
> 
> _Not as often, these days._
> 
> _Because it’s you._
> 
> _It’s you, the wash of starlight, the old paradox: if the Universe were static, I could stand anywhere in this world and I swear my line of sight would end on you. I swear I’d find you in the dark._

Ayla passed the letter to Crier.

Crier remembered everything about the day she wrote it. She had just returned to her room, her handmaiden helping her out of her dress.

She remembered the thought that crossed her mind. Fleeting at first, persistent later. For a moment there, she had been back in the room with Ayla, telling her stories as, after her bath, Ayla had turned away while Crier put on her undergarments. Telling her stories while she let loose Crier’s hair and braided it. Then it had hit her: Ayla wasn’t there, no longer her handmaiden.

A flood of longing that washed over her. She had missed Ayla terribly.

“Crier, this is . . . I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

Could a part of Crier have wanted Ayla to read those letters all along? Was she obliviously waiting for Ayla to stumble upon them because she didn’t know how to give them to her?

Ayla laced her fingers with Crier’s and smiled. She picked up another letter.

> _A,_
> 
> _The sun sets and I miss you. I imagine you watching the same sky, the same sun sinking beyond the horizon._
> 
> _Do you think of me when you see the golden blue hues?_
> 
> _I lie awake over the sheets and imagine you’re still here, curled up beside me. Peaceful. Serene._
> 
> _I imagine you reaching out, snuggling close to me. Piercing my heart with your beauty._
> 
> _It truly is beyond compare._
> 
> _And I find myself hoping that, wherever you are, I cross your mind as frequently as you cross mine._

She watched as Ayla’s eyes scanned the page, still unaccustomed to reading quickly after only recently learning the alphabet. She turned to Crier and said, “You know, that night, I had the best sleep I had in years.”

“The bed _is_ soft.”

“It wasn’t that.” Ayla shook her head. “It was you. I felt...” She paused for what felt like aeons. “I felt safe. Like the walls could collapse and they could never be strong enough to hurt me.”

Crier squeezed Ayla’s hand. She pressed it to her heart.

“I thought about that night every day I wasn’t with you.” Ayla’s eyes held Crier’s. A moment passed. Another followed.

Ayla kissed her. Slow, lingering. Gentle.

She turned away and looked down at another letter.

 _The_ letter.

> _A,_
> 
> _I keep thinking of that night. The moonlight illuminated my room, but all I could see was you. Standing over me, a knife in your hands._
> 
> _Not even your silver blade could pull my eyes from yours._
> 
> _And the worst part is: I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t scared as I stared at you. I was just confused._
> 
> _Because how could you? After everything._
> 
> _Don’t you remember? Don’t you remember the way you kissed me, the way your touch did strange things to my heart?_
> 
> _I was confused and you ran. I called after you, and you ran._
> 
> _I recall that night, Ayla, and all I can think is this:_
> 
> _If you had stayed, we would have talked. If you hadn’t run, I would’ve forgiven you._
> 
> _How, you ask? How could I forgive you for trying to kill me?_
> 
> _The answer: my heart would’ve been broken if I didn’t have you in my life._
> 
> _Just like it is now._

Crier witnessed the transformation in Ayla’s eyes. One moment, her face were inscrutable, the next, her eyes welled up, a dam, a _heart_ , breaking.

A stream of tears, fuelled by the words that Crier had written over and over, trying to understand that night. Trying to remember the look of fear in Ayla’s eyes, the hesitation that plagued her. The betrayal. The confusion.

“I am so sorry, Crier.” Ayla gasped for breath. “I’m so...” she breathed, the words pushing through the rivulet. “I’m so sorry.”

“That’s behind us now.” Crier’s hand flew to Ayla’s cheeks, guided by a desperation to erase her pain. Fingertips gently pressed, oh-so-gently dabbed at the tears. She put an arm around Ayla’s back and softly rubbed her arm.

Ayla’s breath hitched. “I know there’s nothing I can say that will make you forgive me.”

Crier gave her a sad smile. “But I do. I forgive you, Ayla. I _love_ you.”

“I—I love you, Crier.”

“I know.”

Crier was amazed by her confidence. But what was the point of denying it?

She loved Ayla, and Ayla loved her. And that was their truth.

“There is one more letter,” she told Ayla, silently thanking the gods that Ayla hadn’t found the other stack, locked deep in the bottom drawer beneath her books.

Ayla took quick, deep breaths, leaned into Crier, and started reading.

> _A,_
> 
> _You kiss me and I come alive. Your lips touch mine and I forget how to breathe._
> 
> _I play with your hair and wonder how it could be so smooth, so perfect. When I think of it, I almost believe it’s my favourite thing about you._
> 
> _Until..._
> 
> _You cup my cheeks, your tongue brushes mine, and I light up. On fire. So persistent not even the whole ocean can douse its heat._
> 
> _Your body fits against mine so perfectly, as if it was Made for that purpose and that purpose only. To fit against yours. Two pieces of one whole._
> 
> _I shudder when you press closer. I whimper . . . I never thought I was capable of whimpering, Ayla._
> 
> _But you..._
> 
> _You changed me in ways I can neither count nor fully comprehend._
> 
> _You lit up something in me that I thought was a Fault. I was taught that having feelings was a weakness. Then I met you and finally learned the truth._
> 
> _You see, my feelings for you are the only truth I need, the only thing I trust._
> 
> _You changed me, Ayla, and, even if our paths never cross again, I will be grateful._
> 
> _I am forever grateful._

Ayla placed the letter on the bed and regarded Crier, her eyes unreadable. But Crier didn’t need to read them. The rapid pounding of Ayla’s heart was all she needed.

“I think about that every time I see you. Stopping myself from . . . from touching you . . . I was a coward, Crier.” Ayla fidgeted in Crier’s embrace. “I really, _really_ wanted to—especially that night when we pretended to be—eh—wives.”

Crier beamed, her blue heart hammering in her chest.

_Wives._

“That was funny.”

Ayla chuckled. Then her face grew serious all of a sudden, all hints of playfulness replaced by something else. The ache in Crier’s lower belly told her what that look was. She wondered, _what did Ayla see when she looked into her eyes?_

With an arm still around Ayla’s back, Crier bent her head forward and kissed her. Ayla reached up, cupped her cheeks, nudging her mouth open and gaining entrance. Deepening the kiss. And gods, it was breath and heat, a hint of lavender and snow and—

A knock on the door interrupted them. Crier reluctantly withdrew, leaning her head against Ayla’s. She sighed. “Yes?” she asked at the door.

“Lady Crier, the ambassador of Tarreen is here. They are waiting at the dinner table.”

Crier had completely forgotten about that. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“I will let them know.”

She heard the guard’s footsteps retreating and turned to Ayla. “Sorry, I have to go.”

“I know.”

Hesitantly, they stood, the letters lying forgotten on the bed.

Crier made to adjust her clothes, her hair, but Ayla beat her to it. She reached out and smoothed Crier’s hair, adjusted the collar of her shirt, pulled the hem down where it belonged. Her fingertips left traces of golden heat wherever they touched.

Crier stared at her the entire time.

When Ayla was done, she gave Crier a quick kiss on the cheek. “Good luck.”

“I’ll be back soon.”

“Good.” She caught the hint of mischief dancing within deep-brown irises.

“Until then, don’t go snooping around in my room.”

Ayla’s eyes twinkled. “Are you saying there are more where these came from?” She pointed at the letters on the bed.

Crier shrugged.

Ayla’s face fell, then instantly rose in determination. “I hope one day you get to share them with me,” Ayla said, her voice soft, wandering. Hopeful.

Crier thought for a moment. “I hope so. After all, I already love you.”

A bright smile painted Ayla’s face. “I love _you_.” She paused, lost in thought, then seemed to return to the present. “Now go, or you’ll be late, Just Crier.”

“I’ll see you soon,” Crier said, standing straighter, her heart soaring. And she left the room.

All through dinner, images of Ayla cuddled against her side filled her mind, forcing her to make a conscious effort to focus.

After all, she would get to hold Ayla right after.

And that was all that mattered.


End file.
